Thank You
by PalindromePandemic
Summary: Two words saved him some time on his torture stake. Semi-Slash, NnyxEdgar. R&R! 1 of 3 Chapters is UP!
1. Chapter 1

_AUTHORS NOTE:  
Hi. First story. First Chap.  
Its gonna be a bit short.  
I plan for this to be only 3 chapters.  
So this takes place RIIIGHT before Edgar dies.  
If anything is confusing, feel free to comment.  
I tried to be as in character as possible.  
This idea has been floating around in my head for a few days…  
Anyway. Special thanks to Zarla, even though she doesn't know me.  
Please read and review_!

---

"…But I do have faith…"

He almost groaned.  
This man was going to PREACH to him.

"…You know, god and all that. A heaven for me, a hell for you. So fuck fear. I have nothing to fear."

The man raised his head. It was then that Nny realized how ironic this was. He had put him in this death machine that made his pose resemble Jesus on the cross.  
Another almost-groan.

"I envy your conviction."  
His hand reached for the lever to pull.

"Thank you."

_What._

Nny stumbled for a minute. What did he just say to him? Thank you? Did he just thank him? He was going to kill this man… And he was THANKING HIM?  
A growl escaped him.

"What."  
It was audible this time.

"I said… Thank you."

"Why are you thanking me? Aren't you scared?" He said the last part through gritted teeth. Where was the screaming? The begging? He was looking forward to the adrenaline rush that he got from that.

"Of what?" the man laughed a bit, "Heaven?" His eyes stared Nny down. They were daring him to pull the lever.

_Do it. Do it… The wall needs it…_

"FUCK THE WALL, THE WALL CAN WAIT." And with that, Nny went upstairs. He would leave him there for a few days. He wouldn't let him die until his stomach either ate itself from starvation, or until he screamed bloody murder from the torture.

_What a creep. _

_What a- …_

Wait... was he actually judging this man?  
The way **they** judged him?

-----

Meanwhile…  
"Padre nuestro que estás en los cielos, santificado sea tu nombre…"

Our father… Who art in heaven… Hallowed by thy name…

He couldn't think. His mind was racing.  
Did a simple thank you just stall him some time?  
What else could he do to stall even more time?

With the lights off, the basement was cold and eerie.  
Hellish.

_Maybe that was the point, stupid?_

Would this be the last room he saw?  
He shivered.  
He wanted a blanket…

_A BLANKET? No, dumbass, you want OUT.  
Think: OUT. Out of HERE._

_Don't think about blankets, stop praying too, dammit.  
Just… Try to break free. Think Edgar, Fucking THINK. _

_---_

_Uh, Anothers Authors note; No clue if Edgar is Mexican...  
But I decided he is.  
Oh and he speaks Spanish :D_


	2. Chapter 2

The lights flickered on in the basement.  
Stomping, followed by a struggling thumping noise.  
Then what seemed like endless screaming.

"Please don't! I have a family! My grandma is in the hospital an-"  
"Shut UP!"

Edgar had seen this scene day after day for what seemed like a week.  
After 7 days, this seemed like a normal routine.  
He flexed his fingers, did they still work?  
He had been in this position for long enough to cut off circulation, after all…

"I don't fucking care about who you are, or who your mother is, or if your grandma is in the hospital!"  
"Please don't! My father is a very rich man, and if you want I ca- ngghh…"

**Riiip.**  
Blood spray splashed Edgar's face.  
He didn't even flinch.

The fight was over. The body lay still under Johnny's smaller frame.

Edgar let out a sigh, and Johnny's head whipped back to stare at him.  
Johnny's mouth twisted into a Cheshire-cat-like smile.

Edgar felt something stir in his gut, but it wasn't fear.

Butterflies?

_Does bondage turn you on? You sick fag. _

He squeezed his eyes shut, and when he reopened them, Johnny was standing right in front of him, still drenched in blood.  
Edgar had been thinking for the past few days, and had a tactic that he hoped was lifesaving.  
"What's your name." he quickly blurted out.  
It didn't even seem like a question, the way he said it.

_  
Way to go, moron. Real smooth.  
_  
"Johnny."

Edgar felt excitement race through his body.  
He had hit the jackpot.  
"Johnny… John was an apostle of the bible you k-"  
"Shut up. I don't fucking care."

_Good job again. Now you're going to die._

Johnny's eyes connected with Edgar's.  
"What the fuck is wrong with YOU?"  
"What?"  
"You're not like them. You don't scream. You don't fucking-"

"Like who?"  
Johnny glanced over at the dead body that still littered the basement floor.

Silence.

"So you think you're really going to Heaven, huh?"

Edgar looked at Johnny, was this a trick question?  
If he answered yes, would he die?  
If he answered no… would he die?  
Looking at Johnny, he also noticed that he was quite larger than the serial killer.

_Murder is a sin.  
But is self defense?_

"Well?"

The voice snapped him from his thoughts.  
"Yes."  
Johnny's face wasn't fierce, it was quizzical.  
He was calm and collected.  
"Why?"

_Answer that one, you liar._

"I… I haven't sinned-"

_LIAR!_

"-and if or when I do... I repent... so it doesn't count."

Johnny's eyes got very narrow.  
"So you're telling me… if I repented, hypothetically… I could get into heaven?"  
Edgar swallowed hard.  
"Yes." He lied.

_Lying is a sin. You're sinning right now. _

Johnny laughed.  
"Bullshit."  
His eyes narrowed again.  
Edgar noticed he was still holding the knife he used to kill with moments earlier.  
His eyes flashed from the knife to Johnny's eyes, back to the knife…  
Johnny caught this.  
"Scared?"  
"No."

He heard double for a moment:

_You're a fucking liar.  
_"You're a fucking liar."  
Edgar cringed.

"You going to repent for that one too?"  
The knife blade rose.

Edgar stumbled for words,  
"I… You… I bet you get teased a lot. I do too. People think I am a queer because I am artistic. You seem pretty… creative…" His eyes grazed over the dead body, he swallowed hard, "Are you artistic? Do you draw?"

_People think you're queer because you don't seem to be interested in girls.  
Not because you're 'artistic.'  
You can't draw if your life depended on it.  
_  
"What's it matter to you?"  
"I am just saying, you have a lot of… creativity..." cringing, he continued, "you should put it to good use if you haven't alrea-"  
"Fucking SHUT UP. I am so SICK of you!"

The knife came down hard into Edgars right shoulder blade.

Edgar started to cry out in pain, but he bit down on his bottom lip to muffle the scream.  
Johnny hadn't pulled the knife out. He moved his head up to look at Edgar.  
Where was the screaming?

"Jesus. Fucking. Christ." Johnny grunted, and twisted the knife.  
Edgar screamed.  
Adrenaline shot through Johnny's veins, and that Cheshire-Cat-Grin came back.

-----

Authors note:  
One more chap to go. :D


End file.
